


One Foot

by Control_Room



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, Gay Rights, Inspired by Music, M/M, One Foot by Fun., Queer Character, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slurs, relationships are background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Joey knew he got off at the wrong stop.That was fine.
Relationships: Joey Drew/Henry Stein
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	One Foot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Parrot_Assbutt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parrot_Assbutt/gifts).



Brooklyn. 

Wally was raised here, with Willy.

Joey?

Hell no.

He grew up somewhere much further away.

Wally and Willy were put away from religion, never caring much for it.

But Joey?

His step father  _ thrust  _ him within it. He tried to drown him in baptismal waters, and tried to purge his soul of the blemishes that Johan’s father had left. He would hit him if he stared at the boys, shout at him if he ate meat on friday, lock him in a windowless room to pray if he caught him reading philosophy or science. 

The gaze of that crucified figure, carved from gold, eyes made of emeralds, it burned onto his flesh and the scars had been put on his own body by a clergyman who assured Paul that it would free the boy of his wretched sodomic tendencies.

There was a stained glass window on Joey’s left. He was gone in the colors, and Brooklyn seemed to be mocking him for his anxiety. 

Did anyone understand?

He wanted to pick up a rock and smash that window. 

He breathed, and walked on, ignoring the pounding in his ears. 

Joey was free, now, and maybe he was lonely, but he would be fine.

A few months later, he was back in New York City, stumbling off a train somewhere in the midst of it all, and his eyes came to the same figure that haunted some of his nightmares.

He backed away from the chapel.

His pin flashed, and there were stares-- at him, at it.

He swallowed, then rose his head. His friends were stuffed in closets, and he would march for them. For them. For himself. He knew he should have gotten off at the next stop, but fate placed him here, and here he would march.

“Whore!” some woman shouted at him. “You’re a sinning slut!”

He turned his head slowly to look at her. Passerbys held their breath, waiting to see his response, if he would charge her down or shout or yell or fight, but none of those things happened. Instead, he stared at her until she shifted, uncomfortably.

“Are we not all One’s children?” he asked, quietly, like a gunshot in the silenced street. The slur throwing woman gawked at him. “I’ll die for my own sins, thank you. Unfortunate that you needed someone else to do it for you.”

“You- you-!” she sputtered. 

“Yes, I,” he said, demure, turning away. “Thank you once more for your acknowledgement.” 

Joey grinned as he marched on. Atabulus Ramirez might be dead, but he sure would be rolling in his grave to see his son handle such an insult without devouring the speaker whole. 

He was doing just fine, and even if he cried sometimes, even if he had bad days, even if he struggled with his vices, he was happy and safe. Henry greeted him with a kiss when he came home, and it was all he could have ever asked for.

Joey smiled. 


End file.
